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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509872">On the Same Page</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak'>Mizmak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hobbies, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 03:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley tries to help Aziraphale find a hobby, and has to deal with unexpected consequences.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On the Same Page</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last thing Crowley expected to see, now that the world was their oyster, so to speak, was an unhappy angel.</p>
<p>Yet only a fortnight after saving the world, he strolled into the closed bookshop to find Aziraphale sitting in his favorite armchair, arms crossed, and when Crowley said a cheery “hello”, all he got in reply was an extended sigh.</p>
<p>“Happy to see you, too,” Crowley said as he flung himself into a chair across from his friend.  “What gives?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale mustered the tiniest of smiles, then sighed again.  “So sorry.  It’s only that I’m…well, I find myself at loose ends.”</p>
<p>“Fine.  Let’s go somewhere.  Restaurant?  Wine bar?  Park?”</p>
<p>“No, that isn’t what I meant.”  <em>Sigh</em>.  “What I mean is, that I find myself at loose ends more than I wish to be these days, without anything to <em>do.”</em></p>
<p>Crowley felt perplexed.  He loved having nothing to do.  “Open the bookshop again, then.”  Aziraphale had shut it permanently, since its supposed purpose as a base of Earthly operations was no longer needed. </p>
<p>“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.  People try to buy the books.  Shameful behavior.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, shouldn’t be allowed, buying books in a bookshop.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale twisted his hands together.  “What do people <em>do</em> with all their time when they retire from employment?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugged.  He drove a lot more, for one thing.  And he’d expanded his houseplant collection to a solarium on the apartment building roof.  The best thing, though was being able to spend a lot more time with his best friend.  “We’ve got plenty to do.  Lots of places to eat.  Wine to drink.  Walks to take in the park and ducks to feed.”</p>
<p><em>Sigh.  </em>“All very well, and I do enjoy your company, but there are twenty-four hours in a day and I have no miracles or blessings to take up a good deal of that time and I am <em>bored!”</em></p>
<p>Impossible.  Crowley waved a hand around the room.  “Read!” </p>
<p>“Yes, well, even <em>I</em> cannot read all day or all night long every single day and night, my dear.”  Aziraphale pursed his lips.  “I simply never realized how much time there was to fill.”</p>
<p>“Try sleeping.  I kill eight to ten hours a night that way.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sniffed.  “I have never cared much for it.”</p>
<p>“Take up knitting, then.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>He had been facetious, but now he thought about it, Crowley realized this was not an entirely absurd notion.  “Retired people take up hobbies.  That’s what you need.”  And he was going to help, because he hated seeing his Angel unhappy.</p>
<p>“Oh.”  Aziraphale’s brow furrowed.  “Hm.  A <em>hobby</em>.”  He momentarily brightened.  “I do collect Regency snuff boxes.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s not going to cut it.  You’re not going to spend hours and hours every day at antique shops.”</p>
<p>“I’m not?”</p>
<p><em>“No</em>.  You want something more—you know—<em>fun</em>.”  Not magic, though.  Crowley shivered at the thought of watching any more rabbit hat tricks.  He would make sure not to remind his friend of that interest.  “Arts and crafts.  Sports and games.  Travel—no, forget that one.”  They had spent thousands of years wandering the globe before settling in London.  Then he had a perfect idea.  “Cooking!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale perked up.  “Why did I not think of that?  Cooking.  My goodness, that <em>would</em> be fun!”  He looked round the bookshop.  “Pity there’s not a proper kitchen in here.  I’ll just have to put one in.”  A gleam appeared in his eyes.  He rubbed his hands together.  “I could learn to make crepes!”</p>
<p>“Of course you could.”</p>
<p>Those angelic eyes took on a misty hue.  “Ah, the crepes in Paris…nothing like them anywhere.  Remember the ones we had in 1793?”</p>
<p>“I remember that lunch…”  Crowley didn’t eat that much.  He didn’t recall the food, though he remembered having a wonderful conversation with his closest friend then.  “Good stuff.”</p>
<p>“I shall have to track down the recipe,” Aziraphale said.  He sounded downright cheerful now.</p>
<p>“Great!”  Problem solved.  Crowley clapped his hands. “Right.  Now that’s sorted, how about going for a drink?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous—there’s no time for that.”  Aziraphale rose and grabbed his coat.  “Would you please drive me to a place that sells kitchen ware and supplies, my dear?  I must get started at once!”</p>
<p>It was Crowley’s turn to let out a lengthy sigh. </p>
<p>
  <em>What have I done?</em>
</p>
<p>He soon found out.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Cooking was a disaster.  Not for Aziraphale—his love of food was a strong motivator, and he was a keen student who learned quickly. </p>
<p>No, it was a disaster for Crowley, who knew that when the angel got interested in something, he went at it two hundred per cent with great gusto.  He saw less and less of his best friend and more and more of various experimental meals that he wasn’t all that interested in consuming.</p>
<p>“Oh, do please try this <em>coq au vin</em>.  I spent the better part of the afternoon on it.”</p>
<p><em>Yup</em>.  He had noticed that.  Nowadays, when Crowley came to visit, he wound up sitting on the sofa twiddling his thumbs or scrolling mindlessly on his phone while Aziraphale made noises in his new, state-of-the-art kitchen, ignoring him in favor of communing with herbs and spices.</p>
<p>At first, Crowley had tried to be helpful, but after several flour-spilling incidents, a broken microwave (No metal? How was he to know?), and a few dozen dropped eggs, he was summarily banned from the kitchen area.</p>
<p>It was his own fault.  He should have come up with a hobby of mutual interest—something they could <em>share</em>. </p>
<p>He caught himself sighing a lot more.</p>
<p>The <em>coq au vin</em> was tasty.  He said so.</p>
<p>Aziraphale beamed.  “Oh, <em>thank</em> you.  And here is a delightful caprese salad to go with it, and I’m making a pecan pie for afters.”</p>
<p><em>Joy</em>.  “Good job.  Well done, you.”  Crowley tried hard to focus on his friend’s happiness rather than his own feelings of neglect.  That’s what good friends did, right?</p>
<p>“Do keep eating without me, dear fellow.  I just need to nip back into the kitchen to check on the dessert.”</p>
<p><em>Bugger this</em>.  Crowley picked up his plate and fork and traipsed after him.  “Angel, can we talk?”</p>
<p>“Hm?  Oh, do keep out of the way, this oven is quite hot.”</p>
<p>Crowley leaned against the refrigerator, nibbling at his chicken.  “It’s been a whole month now since you started this hobby.  When are you going to slow down?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale poked a knife into the pie on the oven rack.  “Slow down? What do you mean?”  He pulled out the knife and examined it closely.  Then he looked into the oven and said, “Now, now, this won’t do.  This pie simply <em>must</em> be done by nine o’clock, do you hear me?”  He closed the door.</p>
<p>Crowley shook his head.  That wasn’t the first time he’d heard Aziraphale having chats with his kitchenware.  The saucepans got more conversation out of the angel than <em>he</em> did.</p>
<p>“I mean you’ve been cooking every morning, midday, and night for thirty days in a row!  You watched every episode of <em>The French Chef</em> and that baking contest thingy.”  Crowley waved at a bookcase on the kitchen area’s far wall, crammed with cookbooks.  “You used to read Dickens and Austen and whatnot and now it’s <em>1001 Chocolate Recipes.”</em></p>
<p>Which he didn’t mind as much as the rest—Crowley had a sweet tooth, and enjoyed the chocolate experiments.  Still, it was the <em>principle</em> of the thing.  “You’ve gone overboard on this hobby.  You bought every single implement in that restaurant supply place—”  He reached over to the worktop and picked up an odd little dish with a pyramidal dome set in the middle.  “Do you even know what this thing is <em>for?”</em></p>
<p>Aziraphale took it from him and set it down.  “Of course I do.  It’s a lemon squeezer.  You should eat at the table, dear, not in here.  <em>Shoo.”</em></p>
<p>“Don’t you shoo me!”  Crowley stood his ground.  “This has to stop—it’s too much!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowned. </p>
<p>Crowley didn’t like to see the frown, but needs must.  “Please slow down?”</p>
<p>“You don’t <em>like</em> my cooking?”</p>
<p>“No!  I mean, yes, the food is great.  That’s not what I mean—”</p>
<p>“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you have not been finishing your meals over the past week, Crowley.”</p>
<p>“That’s because I gained ten pounds the first three weeks!”</p>
<p>“Oh.”  Aziraphale gave him an assessing look.  “I can’t tell.  You look as skinny as ever.”</p>
<p>“I bought a rowing machine.”</p>
<p>The angel’s eyebrows rose.  “A <em>what?”</em></p>
<p>“It’s an exercise thingy.  You stick it on the floor in front of the telly and you make rowing motions while gliding on a seat.  It trims you right back down.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide.  “You willingly <em>exercised?</em>  On <em>purpose?”</em></p>
<p>“Er, uh, yeah….” </p>
<p>“Oh, dear.”  Aziraphale let out a long sigh.</p>
<p>He looked unhappy.  Crowley didn’t like to see him unhappy.  “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been remiss, haven’t I?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugged.  “It’s all right.  Don’t mind me.”  He felt terribly guilty at spoiling his friend’s fun.  “You’re having a great time, I don’t want to ruin it.  Just, you know…maybe…could you possibly talk to <em>me</em> sometimes instead of to the stove?  And maybe give me smaller portions?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked over at the oven.  “I talked to it just now, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“You did.”</p>
<p>“And I haven’t been talking to you….”</p>
<p>“Not really.  Just to ask if I like pesto better with pine nuts or walnuts.”</p>
<p>“Ah.”  Aziraphale looked thoughtful.  “I did think the original pine nut recipe was better, myself.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, so did I.”  Crowley nibbled some on his <em>coq au vin</em>.</p>
<p>“Hm.”  Aziraphale looked round the kitchen—which was cluttered with pots and pans and spoons and spatulas and a sink full of dirty bowls and plates and a worktop covered with spice jars and opened tins.  “Perhaps I <em>have</em> been a little obsessed.”</p>
<p>“You love food,” Crowley said in appeasement.  “I get that.  But it’s like you’re trying to cram all human cooking history and knowledge into as short a time as possible.  We’re immortal, remember?  Stretch it out a bit.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled at him—a genuinely affectionate smile the likes of which Crowley hadn’t seen in weeks.  “I got carried away.”</p>
<p>“To put it mildly.” </p>
<p>“To the point where you voluntarily took up exercising.  Oh, dear.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>“And you are feeling neglected, aren’t you, my dear?”</p>
<p>Crowley looked at his feet and mumbled, “Just a little.”  He felt ever so selfish.  They’d been friends for six thousand years, with eternity stretching out ahead of them—surely he could spare the angel some alone time now and then.</p>
<p>“Right.”  Aziraphale clapped his hands.  “What would you say to the notion of <em>one</em> meal a day instead of three?”</p>
<p>“Oh?”  Crowley looked up, feeling more hopeful.  “That sounds good.  Is that okay though?  I mean, you don’t mind?”</p>
<p>“I spoke to an inanimate object,” Aziraphale replied.  He stepped close to touch Crowley’s arm.  “I would much prefer talking to you.”</p>
<p>“Well, I <em>do</em> speak back…”  Crowley quirked an eyebrow.  “The oven hasn’t been replying, has it?”</p>
<p>“Good heavens, no.” </p>
<p><em>Whew</em>.  Crowley loved the touch of Aziraphale’s hand on his arm.  He smiled as he patted the angel’s shoulder.  “Thanks.”</p>
<p>They returned to the dining table to finish their dinner together, chatting amiably, until a waft of smoke and an acrid odor informed them that the pecan pie had burnt its crust.</p>
<p>“Drat,” Aziraphale said after he rescued it.  He snapped his fingers to miraculously clear the air, and another snap fixed the pie.  “I do wish the oven timer was more intuitive.”</p>
<p>“Never mind, Angel.”  Crowley took a small slice for himself.  “You’ll get there.  Pace yourself, right?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nodded.  “Yes.  I shall.” </p>
<p>“And if you like, I’ll have a firm word with the oven timer.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>They took their desserts and a bottle of wine over to the sofa, and relaxed side by side. </p>
<p>Now that he had sorted out the cooking disaster, Crowley wondered if the initial problem would resurface.  One meal a day, especially as Aziraphale grew increasingly proficient, might not solve the angel’s boredom problem.  And he had to admit that it wasn’t just his friend’s problem, either.</p>
<p>During this past month of endless cooking, Crowley had discovered he didn’t have enough to do with his time now, either.  Sitting around the bookshop while Aziraphale puttered around his kitchen was far from entertaining, but he had little else to occupy himself with.  The plants didn’t take more than an hour a day, at most.  There were only so many drives he could go on before he grew tired of the same roads or the same <em>Queen</em> songs over and over. </p>
<p>“You know,” he said, “this whole hobby idea I had—do you think there’s something else we could try—something we’d <em>both</em> like to do together?”</p>
<p>“Ah.  That <em>would</em> be better, all in all.  Hm.”  Aziraphale sipped his wine, looking thoughtful.  “I did so love the gavotte back in the day—perhaps we could take ballroom dance lessons.”</p>
<p>Crowley nearly choked on a bite of pecan pie.  <em>“Mrmph.</em>”  He cleared his throat with a few gulps from his wine glass.  “Have you <em>seen</em> the way I dance?”  He’d taken Aziraphale to a disco in the seventies.  There was laughter involved.</p>
<p>“Oh.  Yes.  Point taken.”</p>
<p>He tried to come with something, anything.  What did humans do when they retired?  No knitting.  And no magic shows.  “Um…how about an art class?”  Crowley had hung out with Leonardo da Vinci for many years, and been allowed to dab bits of oil paint on a few of his canvases after a few shared bottles of wine.</p>
<p>Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully on a piece of pie, then slowly shook his head.  He swallowed.  “Do you recall the annual employee talent shows in Heaven?”</p>
<p>Crowley nodded.  He’d won a gold ribbon once for his cloud sculpture <em>Nebula Rising: An Improvisation</em>.  “You entered something?”</p>
<p>“Only one time.  A watercolor landscape I was quite proud of—it showed rabbits frolicking in a field of flowers.  I called it <em>Innocence</em>.”</p>
<p>“Sounds lovely.  What happened?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale set his empty plate on the coffee table, and took up the wine bottle.  “Gabriel was the judge that year.  Took a look and said, ‘what are those soft white blobby things in the middle of—what is that—vomitous excreta?’”</p>
<p>“Wanker.”</p>
<p>“It rather put me off art.”  Aziraphale refilled both their glasses.  “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Music?”  Crowley took the last bite of his pecan pie and then set the plate aside.  They both enjoyed music.</p>
<p>“You mean playing instruments, not merely listening?”</p>
<p>As he sipped his wine, Crowley had a vision of Aziraphale at a piano, plonking away at a Mozart sonata while he stood nearby with an electric guitar trying to master <em>We Will Rock You</em>.</p>
<p>“Maybe not,” he said.</p>
<p>“Trail hiking,” Aziraphale said.  “Fresh air, grand vistas, out in nature.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s arms and legs were sore from rowing in front of his TV.  “Are there any trails that go from one pub to another?”</p>
<p>“Fine.  Golf?  I understand humans enjoy that game in retirement.”</p>
<p>He’d seen golf on the television.  It seemed to require pastel clothing.  “No exercise, Angel.”  Crowley racked his brain for something they both liked.  What <em>did</em> they do?  Eating out…drinking…strolling in the park…feeding the ducks…<em>ducks!</em>  “What about birds?  We could do that thing where people gad about looking at birds.”</p>
<p>“Birdwatching?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, that.  I like ducks.  You like all creatures great and small.  We’ll go watch them.”  Though there had to be more to the hobby than that, surely? </p>
<p>“You just said ‘no exercise’, remember?”</p>
<p>“Right.  So?”</p>
<p>“So, I believe that watching birds involves going out and about, mostly on foot, in search of them, my dear.  They don’t simply come to you.”</p>
<p>Well, that was a point.  “Can’t we just drive from place to place, get out of the car, look at whatever birds are in view, and then move on?”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound terribly challenging.”</p>
<p>“No?”  He supposed not.  Crowley shrugged.  “Come up with something, then.  I’m out of ideas.”</p>
<p>They sat in companionable silence for some time, and they finished off one bottle and moved on to a second.</p>
<p>“Chess,” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>“Poker,” Crowley countered.</p>
<p>“Antique auctions.”</p>
<p>“Antique car shows.”</p>
<p>“Museum outings.”</p>
<p>“Pub crawls.”</p>
<p>“Shakespearean theater weekends in Stratford.”</p>
<p>“Animation film festivals.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale did the long, deep sigh thing again.  “Why do we have such disparate tastes?  We’re <em>friends</em>.”</p>
<p>“I know.”  Crowley found it disheartening.  “But <em>before</em>, you know—when we were working for our respective head offices—we <em>couldn’t</em> spend a lot of time together.  Catch as catch can.  Not as if we had time to investigate personal interests together.”</p>
<p>“Indeed.  Just enough time for a quick bite or a drink.  Pity.”</p>
<p>Were they learning how little they had in common, after all this time?  Crowley shuddered. </p>
<p>“Of course,” Aziraphale said, as he lay a hand on Crowley’s thigh, “we <em>do</em> have six thousand years of history behind us…much of it shared, if only in brief encounters.”</p>
<p>True.  They would regale each other, during their meals and strolls, with stories of what they’d been up to and where they had been during their time apart.  Those were immensely enjoyable times, with much laughter and a good deal of camaraderie over the often absurd tales they told.</p>
<p>“History…”  Crowley had an inkling of an idea.  He set his glass down and put a hand atop Aziraphale’s.  “Memoirs…humans write their life stories down when they’re older, don’t they.”</p>
<p>“A popular activity these days, yes.”  Aziraphale looked at him, eyebrows lifted.  “Memoirs?  <em>Our</em> memoirs?  Are you suggesting—”</p>
<p>“We write them down,” Crowley said.  “Why not?  No human ever had as fascinating a history as we did.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s fabulous!  A book—we could pen a book together!”  Aziraphale set his glass down and turned towards Crowley, eyes wide in delight.  “Lots of books—we could fill dozens.”</p>
<p>“Hundreds, even.”  Crowley felt a warmth flowing through him at his friend’s happy expression.  He smiled as he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “We could get the volumes bound as we went along, and you can store them here.”</p>
<p>“I could get a special bookcase solely for them.  And have them bound in leather.”  Aziraphale smiled broadly.  “It could take <em>years!”  </em>He pressed Crowley’s hand in turn.</p>
<p>“Years and years and years.”  They would revisit their past together, and their friendship along the way, and maybe they would find they had more in common after all. </p>
<p>And as he looked at their joined hands, he knew there was one thing they did have together—affection.</p>
<p>He loved to see Aziraphale looking so excited, and his affection for the angel overflowed.  Crowley felt a sudden desire to take him into an embrace.</p>
<p>So he did just that.</p>
<p>There was no resistance whatsoever.</p>
<p>He hugged Aziraphale, and his friend returned the embrace fully.</p>
<p>Crowley supposed that an affectionate hug between friends should last no more than a few seconds.  He held on much longer, for this was a deeper embrace between two closest, dearest, best of friends.  He nuzzled Aziraphale’s hair, and his cheek.  “I know something else we can share…”</p>
<p>“Let me guess,” Aziraphale whispered.  “Would it be <em>love?”</em></p>
<p>“Mm-hm.”  Crowley pulled back a little, to see his friend’s eyes, and the light within them.  “Can’t think why else we’d put up with each other, all this time.”</p>
<p>“You always drew me in, like a flame.”  Aziraphale released his hold to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair.  “Do you know that I was a bit frightened of you, at first, for quite some time?”</p>
<p>“Natural enough,” Crowley replied.  “Hereditary enemy and all.”</p>
<p>“You were like fire—dangerous, yet full of warmth.  I couldn’t help feeling drawn to you over and over again.  My nerves were always on edge, but I kept coming nearer and nearer all the same.  You practically glowed with light and life.  You were <em>exciting</em>.  I wanted to feel the heat…I did not wish to get burned, but I wanted to feel what you felt.  It did take me rather a long time before I realized that you weren’t dangerous—you were simply more <em>alive</em> than anyone I had ever met.” </p>
<p>Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s temple.  “Liked to live on the edge of things, me.”  He stroked his friend’s chest.  “I was drawn to you, too, Angel.  You know why?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shook his head.  “Should have thought you would have found me too dull.”</p>
<p>“You calmed me down,” Crowley said.  “I needed that.  I loved how steady you were.  Whenever the chaos I traveled through, and in, got to be too much, you were there to bank the fire.”</p>
<p>“Ah.  I wonder…should we put that in our memoirs, my dear?  What we’ve been to each other over time?”</p>
<p>“I think that would be the best part of the story.”  Crowley smiled, and then leaned in to kiss him.</p>
<p>He meant it to be a light, easy kiss but his calm, steady angel surprised him with a fierce enthusiasm, and their lips parted for a deeper exploration that thrilled him down to the depths of his soul.</p>
<p>“Didn’t expect that,” he murmured when they stopped.</p>
<p>“Wanted to touch the flame,” Aziraphale replied.</p>
<p>“Not so dangerous after all, then was it?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled.  “You tasted of pecans, my dear.  With a slightly tangy merlot lingering after.”</p>
<p>Crowley laughed, and pulled him into another, lighter hug.  “I love you, you wonderful bastard.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughed as well.  He nestled his head on Crowley’s shoulder.  “Call me whatever you like, my dear.  I love you, too.”</p>
<p>As they sat there relaxing in each other’s arms, Crowley asked, “We need a title for our grand epic.”</p>
<p>“Yes, we do, rather.  Not sure how to express our history succinctly.”</p>
<p>“What—<em>The Story of How an Angel and a Demon Met on the Wall of Eden and Roamed Around the Earth for Six Millennia Figuring Things Out</em> is too wordy, then?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale ignored this ridiculous remark.  “How about <em>Memoirs of Two Hereditary Enemies”?</em></p>
<p>Crowley shook his head.  “Nope.  Doesn’t have the right ring to it.” </p>
<p>
  <em>“Autobiography of an Angel, with Snarky Asides by His Supposed Best Friend”?</em>
</p>
<p>“Now you’re getting closer.”  Crowley loved this.  Just being here, with Aziraphale in his arms, just being <em>them</em> together.  <em>“A Tale of Two Entities?  Much Ado About Everything?  Around the World in Sixty Centuries?”</em></p>
<p>“Hush, you.”  Aziraphale sighed…only <em>this</em> time, it sounded like an utterly content sigh to Crowley’s ears.</p>
<p>He kissed the angel’s forehead.  “I’ll behave.”  And then it came to him.  “I have it.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?  This is important, you know.”</p>
<p>Crowley nodded.  “I know.  You’ll like it.”</p>
<p>“Fine.  What is our grand opus of adventures through history together going to be called, then?”</p>
<p>Crowley smiled.  <em>“Only Love: The Story without an End.”</em></p>
<p>“Only Love,” Aziraphale repeated.  “Yes.  That’s what kept us going, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Mm-hm.  It was only love that kept us coming together again and again, no matter what happened.”</p>
<p>“And it has a double meaning, of course.”</p>
<p>“It does?”  Apparently, Crowley had been cleverer than he knew.</p>
<p>“You are also my <em>only</em> love, my dear.  As I am yours.”  He pressed more tightly against Crowley.  “I like it.  And yes, it has no end.”</p>
<p>“So after we’ve finished putting down all those sixty centuries, we’ll just keep on adding to it.  The never-ending hobby of all hobbies.  No more being bored, Angel.”</p>
<p>“Between that and my one daily cooking adventure, I should think not.”</p>
<p>“What’s on the menu for tomorrow?” Crowley asked. </p>
<p>“An historical midday meal,” Aziraphale replied, “to get us started on our new project together.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Crowley ruffled Aziraphale’s hair.  “Go on then, what kind of food is historical—”  But then he knew.  He grinned.  “What’s for lunch?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled at him. </p>
<p>“What would you say to some crepes?”</p>
<p>***</p>
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